A Lawyer, a Grifter, or a Rodeo Clown
by DeadPigeon
Summary: Even if life had turned out differently for Richard Castle, one thing would always remain the same.  He would always be destined to meet Katherine Beckett.  "THE LAWER", IS COMPLETE
1. The Lawyer Part 1 of 3

_For those of you who do not remember. In episode 3 x 15 Castle said that without encouragement from his mentor Damien Westlake he would have become a lawyer, a grifter, or a rodeo clown. This is my exploration of those realities._

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><p><strong>The Lawyer (Part 1 of 3)<strong>

Jimmy "The Tool" Karpowski is wanted for questioning, again. Nobody calls him "The Tool",  
>it was just a moniker that I felt seemed appropriate to the man that I had been saddled<br>with defending. Junior Associates always got stuck with the shit clients, I understood that,  
>but I couldn't seem to shake Jimmy. Eleven years had passed and I was still stuck with him.<br>I didn't like it, but I accepted it. Guilt or innocence had no place in my work; it was all about  
>"due process". And if that "process" failed to hold up in court, it wasn't my fault. I do the job<br>and I get paid, and I was good at my job, too good in fact. Jimmy should have been behind  
>bars three years ago, but I'd learned the secret to being a successful lawyer, and it had<br>nothing to do with the law.

The secret is in understanding people and perception. Only lawyers understand the law; we  
>have to in order to play the game. But Joe Schmuck, who finds himself lucky enough to be<br>picked for a jury trial, doesn't need to know a damn thing about the law, he doesn't have to.  
>Hell, he doesn't even need to have a first grade education. He just needs to sit there and<br>listen while I tell him what to think and what to believe. Hitler was able to convince eighty  
>million people to follow him, so convincing twelve jurors that my client is a saint and not a<br>sinner is relatively easy. Now, it was time for me to save Jimmy's ass again.

"Gloria!" I yelled to the outer office to get the attention of my assistant "slash" paralegal.

"You bellowed?"

I enjoyed her smart ass retorts and her work ethic. I finally found her after chewing up and  
>spitting out five previous assistants. She was my right arm and I made sure she was paid<br>well for her work.

"It's 'Tool Time' again."

"Already?" Gloria had been there for the trial three years ago and his two minor "run ins" with the law since.

"Why can't somebody bump this guy off already? He's such a dick. Even his own people can't stand him."

"Yeah, but he's the kind of a dick that gets his job done. His bosses like that about him and me, so that's  
>why I'm stuck with him."<p>

"Lucky us. So, what do we got?" She always had her pen and notepad ready whenever I yelled for her.

"We've got two days to gather our intel before he has to be at the 12th Precinct for questioning in a double  
>homicide. He's conveniently out of town till then."<p>

"Surprise."

I ignored her remark and her smirk.

"The double execution style murders happened two nights ago near Mercer and Canal. The lead detective  
>is named Beckett. You know what I need and I'll need it by tomorrow morning, so everything else you're<br>working on goes on the back burner. If there's something you can pawn off on one of the interns, do it."

"Got it."

She left me to my work. I now had twelve hours to bring the two other cases we were working on to a  
>temporary halt. Thanks Jimmy, you "tool".<p>

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Gloria never failed to meet a deadline. When I walked into my office the next morning I found an  
>inch thick file folder sitting in the middle of my desk. I picked up the file and carried it down the hall<br>with me to the lunch room. I wasn't about to start my day without my morning espresso. It was  
>amazing how much the women in my life influenced my thinking. I could have asked Gloria to bring<br>me my coffee, but the more I've come to understand women, the more my perception has changed.  
>I realized it would be demeaning to her and plain lazy of me to make such a request. I even began<br>asking the other female paralegals and interns if I could bring them a coffee when I went to get  
>mine, and it quickly endeared me to them all. You definitely do catch more flies with honey, and<br>Gloria always used my goodwill to her advantage when pawning off her workload.

The file she'd left for me was heavier than normal. It was only supposed to be a dossier on one  
>person. I flipped open the folder as my espresso brewed and was greeted by a photo of a fashion<br>model. "_Dammit Gloria!" _Today was not the day for fooling around. I slapped the folder closed and  
>concentrated on making my espresso. Gloria was at her desk when I returned and she was so<br>focused on her work that she didn't notice me till I set my mug on her desk. She noticed the mug,  
>picked it up and began slurping away.<p>

"Hey!" She thought I was waiting for her gratitude.

"Thanks." She tuned me out and went back to work.

"Ahem."

"What?"

She was surprised to find I was still standing there. I opened the folder and whipped out the photo.

"Can I have the real one please?"

She gave it a brief glance. "That is the real one."

"No it isn't. This is a picture of a fashion model, not a police detective."

"Did you look at the woman in the photo?"

"Yes."

"At anything other than her face and her tits?"

"What?"

"Look closer, you'll see." The tone of her voice conveyed the unspoken word "chauvinist".

Looking past the long flowing tresses, the chic form fitting shirt and slacks and what looked like  
>ten inch high heeled boots, I finally saw it. The gun and badge secured to the belt fastened<br>about her waist.

"Wow."

"If you think her picture is wow, wait till you read her file."

"This file is all her?"

"Yep."

"Wow."

"More "wow" to come so you better start reading. You're going need every advantage  
>you can get with that one."<p>

"Thanks."

"Wait till tomorrow and then you can thank me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I must have said "wow" at least seven more times while I read her file. The woman's life  
>read like a Shakespearian tragedy.<p>

Born in 1978, she was the only child of Jim and Johanna Beckett. Her mother was murdered  
>when the detective was a teenager and the case was never solved. She attended NYU,<br>and after receiving an associate of arts degree she applied to the NYPD. Father died a year  
>later of alcohol related heart disease. She was a highly decorated patrol officer but she was<br>reprimanded when she first became a detective for using her badge to investigate her  
>mother's case. She was ordered to attend sessions with a departmental therapist before<br>she could return to duty. She stayed off the radar up until year ago, when evidence from a  
>case she was working on tied into her mother's murder and it resulted in her shooting and<br>killing the hired gunman who'd confessed to her mother's murder. There were no leads as  
>to who hired the killer. The murderer was found but the case remained unsolved. Detective<br>Beckett was cleared of any wrongdoing, but mandatory counseling was ordered again. An  
>overview of the woman's personal life looked like she was sleeping her way up the chain of<br>command. She was linked romantically with her training officer Mike Royce for several years,  
>then to a detective at the 10th, Captain Oswalt at the 5th, a profiler with the FBI, one of the<br>Mayor's assistants, and most recently the campaign manager to Senator O'Brien. This wasn't  
>a woman sleeping her way to the top. This was a woman searching for something, and it<br>wasn't love. It was justice; and I was well aware that justice was blind, or that it had blinders  
>on when it came to a suspect. I needed to be on my A game during Jimmy's questioning,<br>especially since I'd be the one doing all the talking.

Jimmy had learned his lesson from the murder trial three years ago. He'd learned to shut up  
>and to speak only on command. My command, when it came to talking to the police. He had<br>his nose rubbed in his own shit once and that was the only lesson he needed. Ninety percent  
>of those in jail were too cocky for their own good and never knew when to shut up. The other<br>ten percent are made up of the sad lot of innocents that were too trusting of the system to  
>believe that they would ever be found guilty of a crime they did not commit. Even the truth,<br>when twisted by the justice system can get you twenty to life.

I'd viewed Jimmy's trial as damage control after the fact. One of the first rules of trial law is to  
>avoid going to trial at all costs. Mediate, negotiate, settle or plea bargain. Those are the first<br>options. Trials are a last resort. Trials contain too many unpredictable variables, especially jury  
>trials. One juror could decide guilt or innocence based upon the way your client parts his hair<br>and another could hear the word "lust' instead of "trust" and misunderstand your entire closing  
>argument. Jimmy had one thing going for him though, it was his looks. Put him in a slightly ill<br>fitting suit with a pair of wire rimmed glasses on his face and he looked like a nerdy accountant  
>who couldn't defend himself much less kill anyone. Perception; that was all it took to get Jimmy<br>off. Of course the lack of any real evidence didn't hurt either, but I know of people sent to death  
>row with less.<p>

My mother was the first to teach me about perception. She had been a prominent stage actress  
>before she gave it all up to play country club housewife to a love struck Orthopedic Surgeon who<br>had wood her from the front row of one of her plays. I was fifteen when they married and it had  
>been the best thing for her and for me. No more living like vagabonds and touring with Off Broadway<br>productions in the summer, one school, a permanent home and a college education. One simple  
>twist of fate for her, and I had it made. I thought I was all that, until I invited her to come and<br>watch one of the trials I had finally been assigned to as second chair. Afterwards she commented  
>on how much it reminded her of the stage. To her, lawyers were like actors trying to win over an<br>audience (the jurors), to make them believe in the story being told. I had tried so hard not to be  
>like my mother, and to suddenly realize that I was nothing more than a highly educated actor was<br>both humbling and rewarding. She taught me the one thing I was missing. I understood the  
>procedures of trial law, but not the drama of it. It was all about perception.<p>

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I rode in with Jimmy to the 12th on Friday morning. As much as I hated him, I hated the downtown  
>traffic even more. His driver dropped us off at the front door and Jimmy told him to circle the building<br>till we were done. If we hadn't been in front of a police station I believe his driver would have pulled  
>out a gun and shot Jimmy then and there. Instead, the man glared at Jimmy's back. I could see his<br>knuckles turn white as he vented his anger on the steering wheel. He looked away, and I watched  
>as the town car lurched from the curb and forced its way back into the traffic to begin the repetitious<br>quarter mile circuit of the building. There was no telling how long we would be inside. It could be thirty  
>minutes; or it could be hours. As I lost sight of the car I could just imaging what hell must be like. It<br>would be an unending purgatory of left turns in the bumper to bumper traffic of downtown New York.  
>Gloria was right. Why hadn't somebody killed him yet?<p>

I hurried to catch up with Jimmy as his back disappeared through the double doors. It was best not  
>to leave him alone, especially in a building full of cops. He hated cops with a passion and was usually<br>very vocal with his hatred. One wrong look or a bump in passing could set him off. My presence would  
>curb his natural inclination. As I pushed through the doors, I could almost imagine the infamous<br>mobsters that may have been escorted through the Precinct's art deco brick entrance, Legs Diamond,  
>Lucky Luciano or perhaps Bugsy Siegel. Were they anything like Jimmy? Was today's "Tool" the same<br>as yesterday's "Wiseguy"? Did I really want to know?

Catching up to Jimmy, I steered him towards the elevator. There would be no waiting in the bulging  
>line that filled the foyer. We didn't have to check in with the duty sergeant. Lawyers had an all access<br>pass, especially lawyers with clients wanted for questioning. Watching Jimmy squirm as cops in their  
>dress blues and detectives in their ill fitting off the rack suits entered and exited the elevator at each<br>floor almost made my morning. I had to stifle a laugh as he struggled through the sea of blue that had  
>pressed us into the back of the elevator and out onto the sixth floor. I half expected him to fall prostrate<br>upon the floor and cry, "Land!"."

I took a moment to take in my surroundings and to get that image of Jimmy out of my head. I didn't  
>need any distractions; it was time to get to work. My eyes finally found the head of long auburn<br>tresses I was looking for. She must have felt someone looking at her because her eyes came up  
>briefly and caught mine. I didn't notice any surprise or recognition in her glance. Her face remained<br>expressionless as she looked away. She was one cool lady.

"Follow me."

This was the first time I had spoken to Jimmy since we said our obligatory "good mornings" almost  
>an hour ago. As we approached Detective Beckett's desk, we were intercepted by another detective.<p>

"You with Karpowski?" The Hispanic man's ex-military demeanor was easy to read. His haircut and  
>muscles said grunt. I thought it best to play superior officer with this one.<p>

"I'm Mr. Castle, Mr. Karpowski's attorney. We were asked here for an interview at 0900." I purposefully  
>glanced at my watch. "That will be in four minutes. I would like to get started on time."<p>

"Right this way, sir."

He ushered us into a sparse room that contained an institutional table, several chairs with well worn  
>cushions and a very large two way mirror that dominated one wall. The smears of fingerprints,<br>handprints, the odd faceprint and other substances deposited on its reflective surface blended  
>together to create what looked like a bizarre translucent Salvador Dali mural. The brief chance I<br>had at finding art where none actually existed was interrupted by the detective.

"Detective Beckett will be with you shortly." He turned to leave but stopped short as I barked an  
>order at him.<p>

"Give her my card."

I handed over one of my more expensive black and gold business cards. He took it and shut the door.  
>Now we could only wait; I was sure my act of intimidation and my fancy card would have little effect<br>on her. It was just part of the game we were about to play.

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><p><em>I've never written in 'first person' before so I thought I'd give it a try. How am I doing so far? Good or bad, let me know. THANKS!<em>


	2. The Lawyer Part 2 of 3

**The Lawyer (Part 2)**

To stay sharp, I spent the wait reviewing Jimmy's "alibi" and the pertinent details about  
>Detective Beckett that I had transferred to my iPad. Jimmy spent his time playing with<br>some app on his phone. Part of me wondered if he was playing Angry Birds or Contract  
>Killer. It was twenty minutes before the door opened again and I stood as Detective<br>Beckett strode into the room. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, and it also kept me at  
>eye level with the woman. Her legs seemed to go on forever. Of course they weren't<br>really that long; it was just the effect that her high heeled boots gave her. They  
>obviously leveled the playing field for her by making her as tall as or taller than most of<br>the men in her male dominated profession. She probably hated the fact that she still  
>had to look a few inches up into my eyes.<p>

She motioned with the folder she was holding. "Have a seat."

I mimicked her motion. "After you."

She walked over to her chair and stood behind it. I got the impression she was preparing  
>for a stand off, so I gave her a knowing smile and casually sat down. My smile brought<br>a flare of annoyance to her eyes_._ She quickly turned her attention to Jimmy.

"Mr. Karpowski, do you know why you're here?"

That was my cue. "I informed my client as to why he was being questioned."

Her eyes cut to me. "I believe I was speaking to Mr. Karpowski."

I leaned forward to meet her glare. "I'm well aware you were speaking to my client. But  
>seeing as Mr. Karpowski has a severe case of laryngitis, I will be speaking for him today."<p>

She slapped the folder she was holding loudly onto the table before roughly pulling out  
>her chair. She sat down, opened the folder and made a pretense of scanning its contents.<p>

"It looks like your client had laryngitis the last two times he was questioned by the police."

I controlled a smile before I replied, but I think it found its way to my eyes. "His doctor seems  
>to think it's brought on by stress."<p>

She didn't find me amusing. Her hand went to her jacket pocket and came back out with my card.

"Well then…" She glanced at the card before tossing it down on the table. "…Mr. Castle,  
>where was Mr. Karpowski on Monday night between ten and twelve p.m.?"<p>

"Let me see." I picked up my iPad and opened the document that had Jimmy's timeline for Monday. "Ten…ten…"

"Here it is, ten o'clock…took mother to doctors appointment…oh wait, sorry that was a.m. you  
>wanted p.m." I slipped that one in. She just crossed her arms and leaned back into her chair.<p>

"Ten p.m., ah…here we are. He was with his weekly poker club that meets in Jersey at Stefano's  
>Bar and Grill from nine p.m. till one a.m."<p>

The smirk that played across her lips and her reply didn't surprise me. "You expect me to take the  
>word of his poker buddies, that's a good one."<p>

"Well, you could waste your time talking to his "friends", or you could talk to the employees at  
>Stefano's. I'm sure they will verify his alibi."<p>

"Oh, I'm sure they will."

'Or better yet…" I pulled a leather embossed pocket portfolio from the breast pocket of my jacket,  
>slapped it down on the table and flipped it open. "…you could just verify his credit card receipts."<br>I extracted five receipts and dealt them out on the table before me. My finger hovered above them  
>for a second before coming to rest on the fourth one down the line. I slid it to the center of the table.<p>

"This receipt is from a gas station in Jersey City where Mr. Karpowski's car stopped to fill up before  
>arriving at Stefano's. You can clearly see the time date stamp of 8:43 p.m. on October 17th."<br>My finger went to the next receipt in line and I slid it beside the other one. "And this is a receipt  
>from Stefano's Bar and Grill. My client paid his tab at 12:52 a.m. on October 18th." I looked up to<br>catch Detective Beckett eye as I finished with Jimmy's alibi. "He then headed home to Queens  
>via the Queens Midtown tunnel. I'm sure you can pull his EZ Pass records to verify the time."<p>

Her hand reached for the receipts. "We'll verify everything Mr. Castle."

I reached out and laid my hand atop hers. I could feel her flinch and the look in her eyes had me worried  
>that she might pull out her gun with her other hand and shoot me, so I quickly clarified my action.<p>

"The originals are mine, you can make copies."

Her gaze remained steady. "I intend to."

I expected her to pull her hand away, but she didn't move. She wanted me to be the one to back  
>off first. I took advantage of her decision to linger and slid my fingers across the back of her hand<br>and gently lifted her fingers from the table and held them in mine. I held them long enough so that  
>I hoped she could imagine me kissing the back of her hand. My thumb glided across her fingers<br>before I let them slip away. I held her gaze till she looked down to pick up the receipts. I wasn't  
>sure but the pink of her cheeks looked a shade redder . She held the receipts up to the mirror<br>behind her right shoulder and in a few seconds the door to the room was briskly shoved opened.  
>The Hispanic detective was back.<p>

"Esposito, make copies of these and return the originals to Mr. Castle when we're done."

He took them from her and glared at me. "You alright in here?"

He must have seen what I'd done and was acting like an overprotective brother.

"I'm fine. Mr. Castle and I are just becoming better acquainted."

The man gave me one more piercing glare as he left the room, so I had to ask.

"Are all your co-workers so protective of you?"

"Half the guys here act like they're my older brother."

"And the other half?" I ventured.

She laughed to herself as she looked down and spread her hands out on the aged Formica top.  
>"The other half just wants to fuck my brains out on this table."<p>

"Ha!" Jimmy couldn't control his laugh when he heard what she said, and he now had her full attention.

"Have you recovered from your laryngitis Mr. Karpowski?"

His hand went to his mouth and he began to feign a really lame coughing fit. I took it as our cue to  
>leave. I picked up my portfolio and slid my chair away from the table.<p>

"You have my client's alibi so I believe we're done here."

"Oh, I'm far from being done with your client. The word on the street is that Mr. Karpowski was behind  
>these killings and I intend to…"<p>

It was my turn to laugh out loud and I think it offended her more than Jimmy's had.

"Word on the street, detective? Why not just paraphrase that with 'Once upon a time', or if you're not  
>into fairytales but more into sci-fi you could say 'A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away'."<p>

She had no reply. Her face was definitely red now, but I wasn't sure if it was from anger or embarrassment.  
>I stood and tapped Jimmy on the shoulder so he'd follow me.<p>

"Goodbye detective, this was…interesting."

She never moved from her chair as she watched us leave. Jimmy made a bee-line for the elevator and I  
>had to snag his elbow to slow him down.<p>

"We have to wait for those receipts."

The interview was over and so was Jimmy's laryngitis. He turned and growled at me. "I don't have to wait,  
>you wait…it's your job. I'm gettin' out of this place."<p>

"Fine, I'll catch a cab." I was actually relieved, relieved that I wouldn't have to listen to Jimmy as he berated  
>the cops and made lewd comments about Detective Beckett on the ride back to the office. She was good;<br>I had to give her that. If we had stayed any longer she would have had him talking.

I left Jimmy at the elevator and headed back towards the detectives' desks. Passing back by the open door  
>of the interview room, I saw Detective Beckett slide my card off the table and slip it back into her pocket.<br>She didn't notice me and I thought it best to keep on walking. Detective Esposito wasn't at his desk. Great,  
>he was probably going to make me wait twenty minutes for a two minute job.<p>

I made a move to sit in the decrepit chair next to his desk, when the smell of fresh brewed coffee caught  
>my attention. It was coming from a break room located just ten feet behind his desk. I didn't like being<br>too wired, or having to pee during an interview, so I had skipped my morning espresso and right now  
>coffee of any kind was sounding pretty good.<p>

There were two Mr. Coffee coffee makers sitting on the stained counter. One pot had a quarter inch  
>thick sludge in the bottom that must have been condensing on the burner since the night before and<br>the other pot, though freshly brewed had its own nasty surprise. I filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee  
>and began to stir in some creamer when dark brown bits of coffee grounds began floating to the surface.<p>

"You really don't want to drink that." Her voice and her presence startled me.

"If it's not fit to drink then why do you guys brew it?" I looked over to see Detective Beckett with her arms  
>crossed, casually leaning against the door frame.<p>

"We use it to torture our suspects."

I laughed and headed over to the sink to pour it down the drain. "So where can a guy get a decent cup of  
>coffee around here?"<p>

She didn't answer right away and I watched as she looked out into the bullpen and then back into the break room.

"Where's your buddy?"

I quickly closed the distance between us and stopped in front of her so that she had to look up at me  
>before I answered her question. "He's not my 'buddy', my friend or my pal. Mr. Karpowski is my client<br>and nothing more. And if you must know, he left and I'm here waiting to get those receipts back."

She pushed off the door frame and uncrossed her arms. "These receipts?" They were in her hand and  
>she held them out to me.<p>

I reached out to take them and at the last second I decided to take hold of her hand along with the paper.  
>"Why thank you." I pulled her hand upwards as if to give it the kiss I had hinted at earlier. This time she<br>was quick to pull away and I was left with the receipts and the upper hand. "So…" I gave her sly grin as  
>I pulled out my portfolio and slid the receipts back inside. "…about that coffee?"<p>

She was having a difficult time suppressing her own smile. "Follow me." She turned on her heel and walked  
>away leaving me no option but to follow, and I found myself following her into the elevator and out of the<br>building. I wondered where the hell she was taking me. She kept a quick pace and there was no time to  
>question her or my decision follow. Two and a half blocks later she pulled opened the door to a small crowded<br>no frills coffee shop. What they lacked in décor and space they made up with in the speed of their service, and  
>we were through the heel to toe line in minutes.<p>

The detective was obviously a regular. She never spoke, yet her coffee appeared on the counter as I  
>gave the Barista my order. She grabbed her cup and called out to the girl making my espresso. "He's<br>got this one Jen." I reached for my wallet as she turned away to survey the small café. She was looking  
>for a place to sit. Good luck with that I thought as I handed over a twenty. I collected my change and<br>my coffee and when I turned back to the detective, she was gone. Looking around, I found her sitting  
>on a tall stool at one of the small pub tables by the front window. With my coffee held high, I carefully made<br>my way through the crowded maze of tables, chairs and people. One wrong bump in here and someone  
>could wind up with second degree burns…and a lawsuit. I reached the safety of our table and set my coffee<br>across from hers.

"How'd you manage to get a table?"

"This place is so small you're expected to share a table, but I've discovered that most young men between  
>the ages of nineteen and twenty five never want to share a table with a cop." She gave the badge that<br>was sitting next to her coffee a twirl. "They all seem to be guilty of something, probably more of thought  
>than action. How about you Mr. Castle, what were you guilty of at that age?"<p>

"Thought, definitely thought." My unhesitant admission made her laugh.

I took a sip of my coffee, and somehow the next few minutes passed with us drinking our coffees in silence.  
>I glanced around the coffee shop as I drank so that she wouldn't be uncomfortable with me just staring at<br>her while I tried to come up with something to talk about. My eye stopped on the pastry case at the front  
>of the store. It would be a lame way to restart the conversation, but it was all I could think of.<p>

"You forgot something."

My comment made her brow furrow and she looked down at her coffee and badge before looking back up at me. "What?"

"Your donut."

"I didn't forget; I chose to skip my bear claw today."

"Why's that?"

"Coffee is just coffee, but letting you buy me a coffee and a donut…that boarders on a date, and I don't date suits anymore."

"Ah."

"No offense to you…you actually seem to have a sense of humor, but I find most lawyers to be self serving  
>pretentious boors with silver spoons stuck so far up their asses that they can't bend at the waist any more."<p>

I laughed so loud most of the people in the coffee shop were staring at me, and so was Detective Beckett.

"Sorry…" I continued to chuckle. "…but that was the best dead on balls accurate description of the majority  
>of the lawyers in this city that I've ever heard."<p>

She arched an eyebrow at my reply. "Dead on balls accurate?"

I couldn't keep the grin from my face. "It's an industry term."

"It's more like a movie line,"

"One of the greatest movie lines ever.'

She rolled her eyes at my reply. "Whatever. So tell me, what makes you so different?"

"That silver spoon you mentioned, it didn't get shoved in my mouth until I was fifteen so it never really had  
>enough time to find its way up my ass." She snorted a laugh, and I felt tit-for-tat was only fair.<p>

"What I'd like to know is how you managed to lose yours?

That caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You're not Bridge and Tunnel; there's no trace of the boroughs when you talk, so that means Manhattan,  
>that means money. You had options, better options than this, and yet you became a cop. Why?"<p>

"I always wanted to be a cop." The answer she gave was so rote that even without my knowledge of her  
>past I would have been able to tell she was lying. I decided to call her on it.<p>

"Come on detective, you never wanted to be anything else? I did. I remember when I was six I wanted to  
>be a cowboy and then at nine a spaceman, and then around fourteen thought I wanted to be a writer.<br>So come on detective, you can't honestly expect me to believe that as a little girl when your friends were  
>dressing up like princesses and playing with their Barbies you were thinking, 'I wish I could dump these<br>losers so that I can go arrest some scum bag pimp who just beat to death his prostitute druggie girlfriend'."

This was the first time I noticed her laugh making it to her eyes. "Alright, you got me there; I didn't always  
>want to be a cop. But you won't believe me when I tell you what I wanted to be."<p>

"Try me."

She was nothing but serious when she spoke. "I wanted to be a lawyer."

I believed her. She must have wanted to be like her mother, and when her mother was taken from her  
>so was her dream. I had the answer to my question, but I couldn't let on to her about all that I knew,<br>so I lied.

"You're right, I don't believe you. Little girls do not grow up wanting to be lawyers. Ballerinas or fashion  
>models, yes. But lawyers no, trust me on this one."<p>

"Oh yeah, and what makes you an expert?"

A vague answer was all I was willing to offer up. "I have my sources."

"Well, you're wrong about me, my mother was a lawyer and I wanted to be like her."

I had to ask the next question just to see what she would say. "What changed your mind?"

She looked pensive. I almost expected her to tell me the truth but she replied with her own vague answer.  
>"Let me just say 'life', and leave it at that." She took a long drink of her coffee to squash any further<br>comment on the subject and though she didn't want to talk about her past it didn't stop her from probing  
>me about mine.<p>

"So how did you manage to get from the wrong side of the tracks to the right side?"

"I owe it all to love." I could tell by the questioning look on her face that I would have to clarify that explanation.  
>"I went from being the street smart only child of single mother to being the prep school teenage stepson of an<br>orthopedic surgeon."

"Lucky you." She saluted me with her coffee and I returned the salute.

"Yep."

We drank more of our coffee and I could tell by the tilt of our cups that we were both close to finishing.  
>I wondered if she would run out the same time as the coffee. I wasn't ready for this to end. There was<br>only so much I could learn about her from reading a file, and the chance to get to know her was an  
>opportunity not to be missed. Luckily she continued the conversation.<p>

"So, street smart, huh?"

"I had a bus pass and free run of the city by the time I was eight."

She shook her head in disbelief. "So your mother just let you roam the city?"

"Well no, I was only supposed to go to the library, and I did for a while, till one day I decided I wanted  
>to see and do all the things I could only read about. So I hopped on a bus and went exploring"<p>

"And what did you find?"

I could have talked for hours about what I discovered as a boy but I didn't want the conversation to  
>become all about me so I simplified my answer. "More than I could have ever imagined."<p>

"No one place stands out?"

"Quit a few do. Chinatown, the bus depot, Drakes Magic Shop, the meatpacking district, the sanitation  
>department, Comicadia…"<p>

She interrupted me mid-list. "I used to go there."

"You used to go to the docks to watch them load the garbage scows?" I knew it wasn't the place she was talking about.

"No, Comicadia. I bought my first comic there."

We had something in common; it would allow me to steer the conversation back to her. "Really, so tell  
>me detective, who's your favorite comic book hero?"<p>

She finished off her coffee before she answered. "My favorite comic book "heroine" is Elektra."

I tried to make my next comment seem innocent as I tested her mettle. "Interesting choice, a shrink would  
>have a field day with that one."<p>

Her brow furrowed and she shifted in her chair. She tried to take another drink of her coffee, but it was empty  
>and she had to set it back down. She went on the defensive instead.<p>

"What wrong with Elektra?"

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with Elektra. It just seems an odd choice, that's all."

"Odd how?"

"It's odd in comparison to the career you've chosen. You've sworn an oath to serve and protect, yet secretly  
>you wish to be a paid assassin who kills without conscious. If anything, I thought you'd be more of a Punisher<br>fan." If she knew her comics she'd pick up on the reference.

She had, and her reply was stern. "I hate bust your psychobabble angle, but my choice isn't all that complicated.  
>I just like her badass ninja skills."<p>

I laughed. "They are badass." I needed to bring some levity back to the conversation. I was surprised at how  
>easy it was to rile her, so I smiled as I rested my elbows on the table and leaned towards her. "Ok, it's your turn."<p>

She looked confused. "Turn for what?"

"For you to guess my favorite comic book hero."

'Pttht, that easy."

"Go ahead."

"Batman."

She surprised me. Her emotions may fail her but her mind was sharp. "How'd you…"

"This." She pulled out my glossy black and gold business card from her pocket and set in on the table. The  
>ostentatiously gilded image of a chess piece printed on the left side of my card said it all. I busted out<br>laughing again, only this time she joined me.

"You can't play a player Mr. Castle."

"You can't blame me for trying."

I expected her to use this moment to leave, but what she did instead surprised me again. She put my  
>card back into her jacket pocket and when she pulled her hand out she held a quarter between the<br>first two fingers of her hand. She passed her left hand over the quarter and it disappeared. She then  
>pointed with her now empty right hand to her clenched left hand. The quarter obviously had to be there.<br>When she opened her hand it was empty. She then reached behind my left ear with her right hand  
>and when she pulled her hand back the quarter had magically reappeared.<p>

"My grandfather taught me that one. I went with him to Drakes on Sundays. That place is amazing"

"Isn't it!"

My professionalism quickly disappeared as we reminisced about Drakes and Comicadia for the next  
>thirty minutes. I noticed that the more we talked the more she began to twirl her hair between her<br>fingers. It was her tell. She was flirting. A few minutes later, as we shared a laugh over one of my  
>magical mishaps she reached out and touched my hand. Oh yeah, she was flirting. I had to end this<br>now, but I didn't know how. I wasn't about to look at my watch and say, "Oh is that the time", that  
>would have been my tell. Luckily, my reprieve came a few minutes later when her phone rang.<p>

"Excuse me." Her phone was in her hand and opened in seconds. "Beckett." She never had a conversation,  
>she just listened. "I'm on my way." She looked disappointed.<p>

"Sorry, I've got to go."

"Dead body?"

"Yeah."

She slid off her chair and I followed suit. We tossed our cups into the trashcan by the doorway and I  
>followed her out of the coffee shop. The cacophony of voices that had filled the small space inside made<br>the din of the city outside sound almost pastoral. I held out my hand to her in parting and the handshake  
>she gave me was both cool and firm.<p>

"It was pleasure meeting you Detective." Her reply wasn't what I expected. I expected to hear "Nice to  
>meet you too" or even "Likewise", but definitely not what she said next.<p>

"Have dinner with me tonight."

"Um…I...uh.."

My hesitant reply had her slipping her hand from mine. "Sorry."

I had to fix my blunder. "No, I'm sorry Detective; it's just that with me being Karpowski's lawyer, I really  
>don't think we should fraternize any more than we already have, especially with your current investigation.<br>It wouldn't be very professional of us."

"You're right, I shouldn't have." She tried to hand back my business card but I waved her off.

"Keep it; you never know when you'll need a good laugh…or a good lawyer."

She smiled and slipped it back into her pocket. "I will, and it was a pleasure to meet you too." The fingers  
>of her right hand began to absentmindedly twirl her hair again as she turned and walked away. She made it<br>several feet before turning around.

"It's too bad about tonight," she called out above the traffic. "It would have been great!"

I felt had to say something in reply. "You have no idea!"

She smiled one last time and then disappeared among the mingling of bodies passing to and fro on the sidewalk.

I shook my head as I walked off in the opposite direction. 'You have no idea', did I really just say that? 'You have no  
>idea how impossible that would be' is more like it.<p> 


	3. The Lawyer Part 3 of 3

**The Lawyer (Part 3 of 3)**

The next two weeks passed by without incident. There was no panicked call from Jimmy  
>telling me he'd been arrested or even a call from the 12th precinct requesting a follow<br>up interview. Jimmy's "alibi" must have held up under scrutiny. I was elated. Maybe I'd  
>get lucky and not see him for another six months or maybe even a year. I pulled his file<br>out from the stack of pending cases on my desk. It wasn't too thick; Gloria might be able  
>to cram it into the file cabinet drawer that was bursting with eleven years worth of<br>Jimmy's misdeeds.

Gloria!"

Dammit, I was doing it again. I needed to stop bellowing her name through my office door  
>and use the intercom. I picked up the receiver of my phone and then sat there with my<br>finger hovering above the keypad. Was it star 24, or 24 star? No, no it was 24 pound. I  
>pressed the keys in sequence, but nothing happened. I could work a computer, my iPad<br>and my iPhone but I could never seem to remember how to use the damn intercom, and  
>I also forgot that it was the reason I kept on hollering her name. The receiver was already<br>in my hand so I wasn't about to give up just yet. I tried pound 24. I heard a low beep, and  
>then a voice spoke to me from the other end.<p>

"Hello?"

"Gloria?"

"No, this is Stephanie." Great, right sequence wrong number.

"Do you know where Gloria is?"

"No, but hang on a second and I'll check."

"_Gloria!" _The woman's voice echoed through the offices.

Wasn't that what I was trying to avoid? I could only shake my head as I waited. I could  
>hear some indistinct mumbling over the phone and then Stephanie's voice was back.<p>

"Jennifer said that Gloria ran out of here about twenty minutes ago, and that she had said  
>something about winning the lotto and that she needed to buy a bottle of champagne."<p>

"What?"

"That's what she said."

"Thank you, sorry to bother you."

"Not a problem Mr. Castle."

She hung up and I sat there with the phone pressed to my face wondering how she knew  
>it was me. I probably dialed her extension by mistake the last time. I hung up and grabbed<br>a pen and a post-it note. Note to self: NEVER USE THE INTERCOM EVER AGAIN! I pulled the  
>slip of paper from the pad and stuck it over the phone's display.<p>

I knew a simpler way to find Gloria; I'd call her cell phone. Looking at my desk, it would be  
>easier said than done. My phone was currently buried somewhere beneath the piles of<br>contracts, decrees and wills that I had been working on all morning. I swatted at the papers  
>with the palm of my hand till I felt a square lump beneath one of the piles. I dug it out and<br>placed the call. Seconds later I heard music playing outside my door. Had she returned? I  
>listened as my phone dialed hers and the music continued to play, but Gloria never answered.<br>I grabbed Jimmy's file and went to investigate. Both Gloria's desk and the reception area  
>were empty, but I noticed that her cell phone sitting atop a pile of briefs. Where was she?<br>She always told me when she was leaving, for any reason, and she never, ever went anywhere  
>without her cell phone. I dropped Jimmy's file onto her desk and turned back to my office, but<br>then stopped; something else was nagging at me. I called Gloria's phone again and listened  
>for a few second before hanging up. I couldn't wait for her to get back.<p>

While she was gone I had to field the calls that came in to my office. Gloria usually ran interference  
>for me so that I wouldn't have to deal with my more annoying clients. Not today. Today I got stuck<br>arguing with Mrs. Goldenberg's divorce attorney. He was trying to fight the prenup she had signed  
>when she married my client, Mr. Goldenberg, six years ago. I think the man was trying to annoy me<br>into a settlement. He was burying the divorce proceeding under tons of idiotic paperwork. Today he  
>was seeking spousal support for her dog, a yappy Pomeranian named Mr. FuFu. Thirty frustrating<br>minutes later, I finally had to hang up on the asshole.

As the receiver hit the cradle, two empty champagne flutes were placed on my desk. I looked up to  
>find Gloria peeling the gold foil off the top of a bottle of champagne, and I watched as the flecks of<br>gold began to litter the floor around her feet.

"Gloria, what the hell is going on?"

"We won the lotto!"

"_We_ don't play the lotto."

"But we won anyway!" She stopped what she was doing long enough to pull a folded newspaper  
>out from under her left arm and she plopped it down on my desk. She then began untwisting the<br>wire from around the cork.

I picked up the paper and skimmed the front page. "Well, as happy as I am to see that the Yankees  
>won game five of the playoffs, I really don't see how it warrants champagne." I looked back up and<br>was shocked by a glimpse of the label as she struggled to pop the cork. "Especially a $300.00 bottle  
>of Dom Perignon! Woman, would you please tell me what is going on?"<p>

My outburst got her attention and she stopped pushing on the cork long enough to answer me.

"C24."

"What?"

"Section C, page 24." She went back to work on the cork.

I pulled out section C and flipped through to page 24. It took few seconds for me to find it but when  
>I did my heart began to race. She was right; it felt like I'd just won the lotto and I couldn't stop the<br>big ass grin as it spread across my face. I looked up at Gloria and she was grinning back at me. I  
>was suddenly impatient to toast our good fortune.<p>

"Give me the damn bottle."

She was getting nowhere with the cork and gladly handed it over. I held the bottle by the neck and  
>applied pressure with both thumbs against one side of the cork. Gloria must have shaken the bottle<br>in her struggles to open it, because the cork shot across the room and a foamy geyser of champagne  
>erupted out, soaking my desk and Jimmy Karpowski's obituary.<p>

I quickly aimed the gushing bottle away from my desk and proceeded to christen my leather chair  
>instead. Gloria made a mad dash to the bathroom and ran back out with a couple of hand towels.<br>I didn't care what got wet. Hell, I was tempted to upend the bottle and pour it over my head, but  
>having to explain later why I reeked of booze was not something I wanted to do, so I filled our<br>champagne glasses instead. When I finished pouring, Gloria passed me a towel and we both made  
>half ass attempts at cleaning up the mess. She made a quick pass with her towel across the back<br>and seat of my chair while I dabbed at the newspaper with mine. I was trying to save the soggy  
>pages so that I could finish reading his obituary.<p>

Gloria saw what I was doing and stopped me. "Don't bother with that, it doesn't tell you what  
>happened to him."<p>

"Do you know what happened?"

The sly grin crept across her face. "I sure do." She leaned on the desk and reached for the  
>champagne glasses.<p>

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Not until we have some champagne." She handed me a glass. "So hurry up and make a toast,  
>'cause I dying to drink some of this stuff."<p>

"Alright." We both raised our glasses. "To Jimmy, I hope you burn in hell."

She tapped her glass against mine. "Yeah, you no good murderin', lyin', scum sucking piece of shit."

I laughed. Leave it to Gloria to say what I was thinking. I sipped my champagne and watched as  
>she downed hers. If I had known she was going to chug it like a beer, I would have gone ahead<br>and poured it over my head.

"Danm that's good stuff!"

"How could you tell? I'm surprised you could even taste it, much less breathe."

Hey! That one was for Jimmy. I'll slow down and enjoy the next one." She reached for the bottle,  
>but I snagged it off the desk and backed away.<p>

"No more for you till you tell me what happened to him."

"Aww."

"You said after the toast. The toast is done, so spill."

"Fine, but do you mind if we sit first. I haven't eaten lunch yet and that glass of champagne  
>has already reached my toes." Gloria made her way to one of the two armchairs that faced<br>my desk and plopped herself down. I followed; and set my glass and the champagne bottle  
>back down on the desk before pulling the other chair around to face her. I sat down and<br>leaned back into the chair

So what happened?"

"Jersey PD fished his body out of the Hudson three days ago and the medical examiners report  
>said that he had been beaten to death with a tire iron."<p>

"Do they have a suspect?'

"No. No leads as of today."

"If there were no leads then how'd they manage to find the murder weapon?"

"It was in him when they pulled him from the river."

"Who kills a man and then leaves the murder weapon on the body?"

Gloria held her glass out for more champagne. "I didn't say it was on the body."

"You said…" I realized what she had said. "Ooh…ow!" Somebody obviously wanted to make a  
>statement." I refilled her glass as I pondered the murder weapon. . Had his driver finally snapped?<br>Mob killings were business; a beating, that was personal.

"All I know is, he got what he deserved."

She was right, the how's and why's didn't really matter. "Do you know what we deserve?"

"What?"

"Lunch…anyplace you want to go, my treat."

"Why Mr. Castle, I thought you'd never ask." She took it as a cue to polish off her second glass  
>of champagne so I hurried to finish mine.<p>

We set our empty glasses on my desk and I stood to offer her my hand. "Shall we, Mrs. Johnson."

She giggled. I think the champagne had now made it to her head, "Such a gentleman."

"I'm just making sure you can stand up without falling over."

"Now you had to go and spoil it for me."

"And we need to get some food in to you. I can't have you drunk off your ass before noon."

She pulled her hand out of mine. "Do you always have ulterior motives for everything you do?"

Did I? I just wanted to celebrate over lunch. Why did I have to over examine every situation and  
>every conversation? This wasn't the first time I'd felt like a prick. I seemed to catch myself doing<br>this more and more lately.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…"

I was relieved when she laughed. "You should see your face." She moved towards the door.  
>"I'll just get my purse, set the answering machine and then we can go."<p>

She left and I let out a sigh. I grabbed my jacket off the back of my chair and attempt to push  
>the cork back into the champagne bottle. These damn things never seemed to fit back in once<br>they were out. I managed to shove it a quarter of the way back inside before giving up. Gloria  
>was straightening the files on her desk as I stepped out of my office, and when I saw her slip<br>her cell phone into her purse; I just had to call her. Right Said Fred's 'I'm Too Sexy' began  
>blaring from her purse and it took everything I had to stifle a laugh as she frantically pulled<br>her phone back out and ended the call. I could see her cut a glance at me over her shoulder.

"Really?"

She was embarrassed, but she stood and faced me as she dropped the phone back into her purse.  
>"I'm not going to change it."<p>

"And why not?"

"My husband thinks it's funny."

It was my turn to feign the one being hurt, so I grumbled at her as I headed for the front door.  
>"Come on, before you make me change my mind about lunch."<p>

I heard her snort a laugh as she followed me out.

…..

Cocktails at lunch and more champagne that afternoon had us both nursing hangovers the next day.  
>Nothing was getting done by either of us, so I finally closed up shop around noon. We both worked<br>through lunch and stayed late the next day to make up for the days we'd lost. I hadn't cared at the  
>time, but now I was frustrated at having to redo all the paperwork that had been soaked by the<br>champagne. By five o'clock Gloria and I were the last ones left in the offices. As much as I hated to  
>work late on a Friday, I was determined not to work on the weekend. I had quit doing that years ago<br>and I wasn't about to let it happen now.

I was down to my last two contracts when Gloria appeared at my door with a stack of files in her arms.  
>"Where do you want these?"<p>

I glanced at my watch before answering. It was now almost seven. I pushed my chair back and stood  
>to stretch my legs. "What do you have?"<p>

"I finished that research you wanted on BanCorp and I've proofed the McClendon will. I also have the  
>transcripts done from John Arvil's deposition and I've got the final draft of the Silverstein trust for you<br>to review."

"Is that all?" I needed to get my blood flowing, so I met her at the door. "I'll take those."

She gladly handed them over. "That's all for me, I'm done."

"Lucky you."

"How are you coming along?"

"I've got two contracts left and then I'm done."

"Better you than me; of course that is why they pay you the big bucks."

"Thanks."

Her eyes wandered past my left shoulder and I turned my head to follow her gaze. "Are you really going to keep that?"

She was looking at the champagne bottle that I had set on the top of my bookshelf. "It's a reminder."

"You want reminder of Jimmy?"

"No, I want to remember that the next time we find the need to celebrate we do it without the champagne."  
>Gloria laughed and I shoved her back towards her desk. "Now go home before Brian comes looking for you.<br>You're already in the doghouse with him from Wednesday."

"Look whose talking." I watched as she headed back to her desk and collected her purse.

"Hey, I might be here till midnight, but I am not working the weekend."

"You better not." She headed towards the front door and I went back into my office. I was only a few feet  
>inside when I heard her talking to someone. I turned back to see who could be here at such a late hour.<br>The office door was partially opened and she was speaking to someone in the hallway. I could only see a  
>hand as it passed her a business card.<p>

I spoke up to get Gloria's attention. "Who is it?"

She looked at the card and then at me. "It's Detective Beckett; she wants to speak with you."

What could she possibly want? Was she here to question me about Jimmy's death? He may be dead, but  
>I still couldn't talk about him or any of his past cases and I was certainly going keeping my thoughts about<br>his driver to myself.

The door was pushed open and there was the Detective looking a lot less stunning than I remembered  
>her the last time. Her hair was thrown into a haphazard ponytail and she was dressed in a pair of faded<br>jeans and a t-shirt that looked like it could stand a little one on one time with a steam iron. Her intimidating  
>boots were replaced by a pair of sneakers that made her seem small and fragile. Did she look harried<br>because of her work or was it something more?

"It's fine Gloria. I've got time for the Detective."

"Do you need me to stay?"

"I've got this, go on home and have nice weekend."

She headed out the door but not without a parting shot. "You have a good one too, and remember,  
>the weekend starts at midnight."<p>

"I know, I know." I waved her off.

The detective looked worried. "Was I interrupting?"

"No, Gloria was just heading home and I'll be here for a few more hours. So, what brings you here  
>detective? Are you investigating Jimmy's death?"<p>

"Jimmy Karpowski's dead?"

"You didn't know?"

"Sorry, I haven't been at work for the past week. That's part of reason why I'm here. I've been suspended  
>and I think I need a Lawyer."<p>

"Suspeneded? For what?"

She looked uneasy and glanced up and down the hallway. "Could we take this somewhere more private?  
>Hallways have ears."<p>

She was edgy and paranoid. What was I about to get myself into? "Sorry, come on in." I waved her on  
>into the reception area and shut the door.<p>

"My office is this way." I walked past her and she followed. I set the files Gloria had handed me down on  
>the corner of my desk and offered detective Beckett a seat. She refused my offer and instead began pacing<br>my office. I leaned against the front of my desk and waited for her to speak. When she did, it was to grill me.

"Who are you Mr. Castle?"

I was confused? "Who am I?"

"I checked up on you. Aside from being a successful attorney, I can't find any background information on you?  
>So who are you?"<p>

"Is it really relevant to why you need a lawyer?"

"It's relevant to me. I like to know who I'm dealing with. And all I know about you is that you obviously have  
>an assumed name and that you work for the mob. So unless you can clear up these two issues, I'm out of here."<p>

I couldn't help but laugh at her assumptions. She stopped pacing and headed towards the door. "Wait, detective…  
>I was just laughing at how wrong you were. Please, let me explain." She stopped outside my door and turned back.<br>She didn't come back in; she just stood there with her hands on her hips and waited for me to speak. I couldn't  
>help but notice her right hand, as it unconsciously felt for the gun and badge that were missing from her belt.<p>

"I changed my name years ago for personal reasons."

"So, you have something to hide?"

"No…yes…I value my privacy."

"Not good enough." She turned to go.

"Fine, you win…I'll tell you why I changed it."

She turned back again, but still came no closer.

Not many people knew this and I was a little embarrassed to say it. "It was vanity."

"What?"

"Vanity. I didn't like my last name." I was relieved when she relaxed and took a few steps back into the office.

"So what was it?"

If I didn't tell her I knew she would walk. "It was Rogers."

"Rogers, what's wrong with Rogers?"

"Nothing. That was until I became an adult and after about the tenth time someone called me Mr. Rogers, I knew  
>I would never be able to hear my name without an image of that sweet talking, cardigan wearing, children's TV host<br>popping into my head."

She laughed. It was proof, even all these years later that I was right to change it.

"So you took your stepfather's name."

"God no, Richard Pritchard, that would have been worse!" She laughed again and I made my way from the front of  
>my desk around back to my chair in the hopes she would feel at ease enough to sit. Something was still holding her<br>back, and it was in her next question.

"Well, now that that's cleared up can you tell me why you would defend a mob hitman?"

"An alleged mob hitman." Crap, I knew as soon as I said it I was being a prick again, and I could see her take a  
>few tentative steps back towards the door. I needed to apologize, and fast.<p>

"I'm sorry; the damn lawyer in me just doesn't know when to shut up." She stopped walking, but I found her face  
>was hard to read. "For the record Detective, I work for this law firm, not for Jimmy so I didn't have a choice when<br>they gave him to me eleven years ago. I do regret being too good at my job sometimes, but I refuse to compromise  
>my integrity just because my client is a "tool"." I sat down in my chair and scooted it in to my desk. When I looked up,<br>Detective Beckett was sitting in the chair across from me. I guess I had satisfactorily answered her questions. Now  
>it was my turn.<p>

"So tell me, why were you suspended?"

She squirmed in her chair, and I could tell that getting her to open up was going to be difficult. It might be best  
>just to push my luck and see what it gets me.<p>

"Does it have anything to do with your mother's murder?"

I'd caught her off guard. Her face blanched and I couldn't tell if she was going to run or cry. She did neither.

"How did you…?" She whispered her question but never finished it. I could see her mind racing over what her next  
>move would be, so I repeated her question.<p>

"How did I know?" I opened my bottom right hand desk drawer and pulled out her folder from the hanging file  
>labeled 'Current Contacts'. She flinched when I dropped the folder onto my desk. "You checked up on me, so it's<br>only fair for you to know that I checked up on you." I didn't like the way her brow furrowed.

"It's not what you think detective. I research all the people I have dealings with during a criminal case. It's just  
>procedure, nothing more."<p>

Her fingers clenched the armrests of her chair and now she definitely looked like she was about to run. I  
>needed to make her participate in this odd version of truth or dare that she was making me play.<p>

"Don't tell me you won't still check up on me now that you have my real name. It's what we do Detective."  
>She knew I was right and she relaxed back into the chair.<p>

"You may be right about that, but don't think you know me."

I needed to do something to break the tension she was creating between us. I felt a few minutes apart might help.

"I was just about to get something to drink from the lunch room when you arrived, do you mind?"

"No, go ahead."

It may have been a ruse, but there was no need not to be a gentleman. "Can I get you anything, a soda or some water?"

"Water would be great, thanks."

As I headed to get our drinks I could only guess at what had happened in the past two weeks to turn the  
>strong, confident, self assures woman that I'd met into the disheveled, paranoid train wreck now sitting in<br>my office. I was only gone long enough to grab a couple of bottled waters and I was surprised to find her  
>standing when I returned. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was holding something.<p>

"I have your water." I stepped forward and held it out to her.

I was surprised to see what she was holding. "What is this?" She turned towards me and held out the picture  
>frame that had been sitting on the left side of my desk.<p>

"Well, since you're determined to know everything about me, it's a picture of my wife Kiera and our four daughters."

"You're married?"

"Yep, it'll be fourteen years next month." I tried to hand her the water bottle but she kept on staring at the  
>picture as she held it out to me. I set the bottles on my desk and gently took the picture from her. "I don't<br>usually have it out when clients are here, but then again I didn't know you were coming."

She looked confused and I could tell by her next question that she had made some assumptions about me.  
>"You don't wear a wedding ring."<p>

"No, once I realized this job would have me working with people of questionable backgrounds, I did  
>everything I could to keep my private life private. Luckily changing my name all those years ago has<br>made it relatively easy to do." I set the picture back in its place and looked back up at the Detective.  
>She was almost out the front door when I caught up to her. I put my hand against the door and<br>shoved it closed.

"Where are you going?"

She spoke to me but she wouldn't look at me.

"I can't involve you in this. I'm sorry, it was a mistake." From the waver of her voice I could tell  
>she was upset.<p>

"Look Detective, I may not know the whole story, but it's obvious you're in trouble and you need  
>help. So come back inside and let's talk about it."<p>

'I'm sorry, I can't…it's all changed. You've got a family."

I tried to help her brush it off as just a misunderstanding.

"Look Detective, I want to apologize if you thought I was single, but don't be embarrassed about  
>flirting with me the other day. I was actually a little flattered that you were interested to tell the<br>truth. It made me feel nineteen again."

Judging by her next comment it seemed that I was the one who had misunderstood. I think she  
>was talking to herself more than me.<p>

"You were perfect, single…with questionable ties to the mob." She rested her head against the  
>door and let out an exhaustive sounding sigh. "Now I have to start over."<p>

She needed my help because there were some things in this world that a gun and a badge couldn't  
>protect her from.<p>

"You wanted a pawn, someone expendable."

Her reply was barley audible.

"Yes."

"I don't know if you realize it, but you've left a trail of used pawns behind you and they seem to  
>have lead you to Senator O'Brien."<p>

I had her full attention now, but judging by the fear in her eyes and in her voice, I wasn't sure I wanted it.

"You need to forget about him and me. You need to forget I was ever here. You need to burn that  
>file you have on me and tell your secretary to forget me she ever saw me."<p>

I wasn't ready to give up on her. "Please, let me try and help you. There has to be something I can do."

Her next comment and the tear that slipped down her cheek was the deal breaker. "The stakes are too high.  
>The only thing you could possibly do…is die."<p>

I must have taken my hand from the door because she opened it and quickly walked out of the office and  
>my life without another word. I never said goodbye. I didn't watch her walk away. I just quietly closed the<br>door…and locked it.

…..

After a week of the jitters, I finally came to the conclusion that I'd let her paranoia get the better of me. How  
>could one woman's murder all those years ago lead to the creation of an evil villain that nobody knew about<br>except her? I'd gotten it all wrong; she wasn't living in a Shakespearian tragedy. She was pretending to be  
>a comic book action hero fighting mysterious sinister forces lurking in the shadows. I was finally able to relax.<br>The only thing I had to worry about this weekend was helping my youngest pull her first loose baby tooth.  
>The first one was always the worst.<p>

I would have gladly relived that hour long crying session every moment for the rest of my life if it meant I could  
>take back the following Monday morning. To quote Joe DiMaggio, it was like déjà vu all over again, only this time<br>without the champagne.

I was just about to enjoy my morning espresso when Gloria burst into my office. She had her own coffee in one  
>hand, a file folder between her teeth, and another newspaper tucked under her arm. When her other hand let<br>go of the doorknob it quickly reclaimed the file folder.

"You're going want to read this." She set her coffee down on my desk and handed me the folder. "Not that.  
>That's just the final draft of the McClendon will, unless he calls and changes it again." She pulled the paper<br>out from under her arm and waved it at me.

"This is what you need to read."

I didn't reach for it; instead I had to go and be a prick again and say the wrong thing.

"Who died this time, wait don't tell me…Mrs. Goldenberg!"

It was the look on her face that told me I'd screwed up, even before she threw the newspaper at me.  
>"You know some things aren't meant to be funny!" She stormed out and slammed my door shut before I<br>could apologize.

I knew I'd better read it quick and then go and apologize before she had time to stew. The paper had  
>glanced off my chest and landed on the floor to the right of my chair. When I leaned over my armrest to<br>pick it up I couldn't help but notice the glaring front page headline. I suddenly felt ill and the room started  
>to spin, my eyes wouldn't focus and it took a couple of wild grabs before I managed to snag the paper<br>from off the floor. I held it tightly to my chest and tried to wish away what I'd just read, but I knew that  
>could never happen. Front page ink was like a tattoo, it was permanent.<p>

I took a moment before I uncrumpled the pages from my fists and smoothed them out on my desk. This  
>couldn't possibly be true.<p>

POLICE CAPTAIN AND DETECTIVE FOUND SHOT TO DEATH AT PRIVATE AIRFIELD POSSIBLE MURDER, SUICIDE SUSPECTED.

_The bodies of Captain Roy Montgomery 60, and Detective Katherine Beckett 31, both assigned to the 12th Precinct,  
>were found dead early Saturday morning at a small private airfield thirty miles west of Jersey. Autopsies determined<br>that Captain Montgomery received two fatal gunshot wounds to the chest while Detective Beckett sustained one  
>fatal shot to the head. The Police Commissioner is personally heading up the inquiry into their deaths,but refuses to<br>comment about an ongoing investigation. Unnamed sources from within the 12th precinct have confirmed that  
>Detective Beckett was suspended from the force by Captain Montgomery nearly two weeks ago. Sources also say<br>that the Detective had undergone several departmental psychiatric evaluations during her career and that her  
>suspension was due to her emotional instability. <em>

I'd read enough. I didn't know what to believe? Did I believe in the strong confident woman I'd gotten to know  
>that day in the coffee shop, the frightened, scared woman who came to my office, or the dead woman with the<br>single gunshot wound to the head?

All I knew for sure was that she was dead and I was scared.

"Gloria, Gloria!"

My door flew open seconds later. "What!" I could tell she was still mad at me but right now, I didn't care.

"Come in and shut the door."

I must have looked as bad as I felt, because she didn't argue with me. She quickly shut the door and sat down.  
>I didn't want to frighten her too but I had to get this done.<p>

"I need you to get Jimmy's last file and anything you may have written down about Detective Beckett and bring  
>it to my office." I opened my bottom desk drawer pulled out her file. "I then I need you to forget that you knew<br>who she was and that she ever came here. Do you understand?"

She looked confused. "You're starting to scare me. What's going on?"

"You don't need to know. Just bring me what I asked for." I folded the newspaper and handed it back to her.  
>"Get rid of this." She turned to leave but I stopped her when my eye caught a glimpse of the bookshelf to her<br>right. "And take that damned bottle with you."

She left without a word and returned about twenty minutes later with what I wanted. She placed Jimmy's folder  
>and a stack of miscellaneous papers on my desk. She then made a point of placing the card she'd taken from<br>the Detective onto the top of the pile.

"I think she deserves more respect than you're giving her."

I picked up the card and looked at the stark blue of her name embossed upon the bright white background.  
>I still felt the need to save her, or at least to save her card. She did deserve more than she was getting.<br>She had no family. Who would there be to remember her? Why the hell did I feel so responsible for her, I  
>barley knew her.<p>

I looked up at Gloria to reply to her accusation. "I'm only doing what she asked me to do." I knew it wasn't  
>enough, but it was all I had left to offer.<p>

…..

Little did I know at the time, but I did have more to offer, and that I would be forever grateful to the woman  
>who came into my like for a few breif hours and wound up changing my life forever.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: This chapter ran longer than I expected so I will wrap it up with an epilogue. I also ask that I not be villified for the way things have ended.<br>In this story I wanted to highlight to possibility of what could have happened had Castle not been in her life. The following epologue will bring the story full circle, so  
>bear with me, I promise you won't be disappointed.<br>_


	4. The Lawyer Epilogue

**The Lawyer (Epilogue)**

_I was in love with another woman. I don't know when it happened. My wife even knew  
>before I did. How did she know? Was it the time I spent away from home doing research?<br>Was it the fact that I had been bringing her name up in our conversations for more than  
>a year now, or was it the countless photos and newspaper clippings of her that I had<br>covering the walls of my office? She had become my obsession and now it was over. It  
>felt like that day again, that day in the office when I shredded her file. I tried to let her<br>go then, but I couldn't…not entirely. I still had the blue and white card with her name  
>on it. God! I never realized I loved her, but I knew that it was time to let her go.<em>

….

"Honey! Where are my socks? I shut the dresser drawer and looked around the  
>bedroom. Kiera! I can't find my new socks!" Where did she go; where did my socks<br>go? Why was it that no one in this household ever answered me; and why did I  
>always have to be the mountain? I grabbed my dress shoes and headed downstairs.<p>

I found chaos in the kitchen. I couldn't tell if four year old Samantha was trying to  
>conduct the chaos or zap it into oblivion as she stood on a barstool waving her<br>princess wand in the air. I almost wished latter. Kiera and my eldest daughter  
>Alexis were arguing at the stove while Claire and Emily fought over whose turn<br>it was to use the only unbroken iPod left in the house.

"Mom, I know how to make spaghetti, would you just go already!"

"You don't want to overcook the noodles, they'll turn to mush."

"I know what I'm doing."

I'd learned a long time ago not to wait for my turn. It was best just to jump into the melee.

"Honey, where are my socks?"

"Daddy!" Look, I'm a magician!" She waved her wand in a fury of circles.

"They're upstairs….you don't have to stir them the whole time."

"Mom!"

"Dad, tell Claire it's my turn to use the iPod. She had it all day yesterday."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did."

I ignored the squabble. "They're not there, I looked."

"Well look again."

I huffed out a sigh. I had already spent five minute looking.

"I'll make them appear daddy!" Samantha waved her wand again. "Yabba dabba!"

"It's abracadabra sweetie, not yabba dabba."

"Yabba dabba, yabba dabba!"

I was getting impatient. "We need to be ready when the limo gets here."

My comment only made her head to the laundry room.

"Just let me put the clothes in the dryer real quick. Emily is going to need her leotards for ballet tomorrow."

"You broke them!"

"You pulled on them!"

"Dad, she broke the ear buds!"

I felt a tug on my hand. "Daddy."

"It looks like you've solved your problem; now neither of you can listen to it."

Claire shoved Emily and Emily punched her in the arm.

Another tug. "Daddy."

"If I hear that you two were fighting the whole time we're gone there will be no  
>ballet or gymnastics for a week."<p>

Emily glared at me, crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip while Claire just  
>ignored me and attempted to twist the wires back together.<p>

The tiny hand that had been pulling on mine yanked again "Dad!"

I finally looked down to acknowledge her. "What is it sweetie?"

"Abba dabba!" She waved her wand, and her other hand appeared from behind her  
>back clutching my socks.<p>

"I'm glad to see that someone pays attention to me." My hands slid under her arms  
>and I hefted her up on to my hip. "Come on, lets go to the living room and you can<br>show me your magic tricks while I put on my socks and shoes."

….

We both managed to be ready by the time the limo arrived. I took hold of Kiera's hand  
>at the front door.<p>

"Are you ready for this?"

"Me? Are you? This is an end to all your hard work."

"Yeah, but I couldn't have done it without you."

"No, you couldn't have done it without her."

I didn't know what to make of her comment.

"I'm sorry if I've ever made you jealous of the time I've spent with her. There was no reason to be."

"I wasn't"

The look I gave her said I didn't believe her, so she relented.

"Alright, fine. I was never jealous of her ghost, but I admit I was jealous of the time you  
>spent with her at the coffee shop."<p>

"I love you, you know that, and I would never even dream of being unfaithful to you so  
>you have nothing to worry about."<p>

"Oh, I'm not worried." She tiptoed up to kiss me and then playfully patted me on my belly.  
>"If you ever gave up the Poutine and went back to the gym, then I'd be worried."<p>

"Hey!"

She tugged at my hand and laughed as she pulled me down our walkway to the limo. It was hard  
>to argue with her, especially since I had to wear a new tux because my old one no longer fit.<p>

….

The forty minute drive to the hotel gave me time to reflect on all that had happened in the three  
>years since her death and how it all began with the card that I was reluctant to destroy.<p>

….

I hid her card in the safest place I could think of. I hid it on me. I slipped the case off my iPhone  
>and laid the card inside before slipping it back on. I couldn't save her but I felt an obligation to<br>save something of her. I pulled it out from time to time during the first month after her death  
>and wondered what had become of the investigation. There had been nothing more in the paper<br>after that initial disparaging article. Had the Commissioner decided to suppress the mess long  
>enough for a new headline grabbing story to come along, and then quietly bury the truth about<br>what really happened in a storage box amidst the hundreds of thousands of others housed in  
>evidence? Probably.<p>

Why did I feel a sense of obligation? Why did I feel she deserved justice when those closest to her  
>were content to walk away? Why did I feel so guilty? There was something about that damn card.<br>Two months later it started to feel like I was pulling a dead albatross from my pocket every time I  
>reached for my phone. I almost destroyed it, twice. The first time, I held my phone out the window<br>of my car while driving on the Jersey Turnpike. I was so tempted to drop it. Just to let it fall so that  
>it could be crushed and pulverized into a million unrecognizable pieces along with her card. But I couldn't.<p>

The second time was after a disturbing dream in which I pulled a live albatross from the pocket of my  
>coat. It began flailing around, pecking at my hands and face as it squawked, "Why, why, why?" I woke<br>up in a sweat, grabbed my cell phone and practically ran to the kitchen. I pulled out the card, lit the gas  
>burner on the stove and held it over the flame. I really believed I would have burned it had Kiera not<br>followed me downstairs. She wanted to know if I was ok. My back was to her and she couldn't see the  
>card, so I told her that I'd had a dream about the stove being left on. I turned off the burner and hoped<br>she couldn't see me fumbling around in the darkness as I tried to slide card and the phone back into the  
>case. It would be another four long months before I had an answer to that 'Why'<em>.<em>

Those intervening months were the worst. The senior partners told me that the "company" Jimmy used  
>to work for now wanted me to represent another one of their "employees. When I refused, they began<br>dumping all the crap cases they could find onto my desk. Gloria was concerned, but I told her not to  
>worry about it. I was sure it would blow over, eventually. Eventually, it got worse. I came to work one<br>morning to find that my office…and only my office had been ransacked. Nothing was untouched. If it could  
>be broken, it was. Every scrap of paper had been pulled from my files, piled on the floor and urinated on.<br>The carpet was ripped up, all the upholstery shredded and every stick of furniture upended.

Gloria quit. I didn't blame her. I didn't know if it had been Jimmy's bosses or Detective Beckett's 'sinister  
>forces' that had paid me the visit. I was tempted to quit too, but this was all I knew. This was my first<br>and only job and I had a family to support. Lawyers were a dime a dozen in this town and when word  
>got out about what happened to my office, and it would, no firm in town would want to hire me. So I<br>stayed. I couldn't seem to keep a new paralegal for longer than a week, as soon as they heard the  
>gossip about what happened to my office, they were gone. I had to struggle along on my own and hope<br>to god they weren't going to fire me. I started working longer hours, and eventually even the weekends  
>just to keep up. That was the real low point for me. I had made a promise to Kiera after our second<br>daughter was born. No more weekends at work. They would be reserved for family only. I had kept that  
>promise for eleven years, but I couldn't do it anymore. What was even worse, I couldn't tell Kiera why,<br>and we argued about it constantly. I felt I was on the verge of losing my job, my marriage and even my sanity.

It was an unexpected visit from Gloria that finally changed everything. I thought I was hallucinating  
>from lack of sleep when I looked up from my desk and saw her standing in the doorway with a<br>newspaper in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. It wasn't until she clunked the  
>bottle onto my desk and told me I looked like shit, that I knew she was real. I thought she'd come<br>back to help me, but I was wrong. She was only there to help me celebrate.

I had been so consumed by my work that I had no idea what was going on in the world, much less  
>New York. And when I read the newspaper that she handed me I felt like I had been handed a<br>reprieve, a reprieve from the unknown. Gloria knew what I was going through, she had been there,  
>and not knowing was the worst part. The article itself wasn't forthcoming with many details, but<br>what it did say left me optimistic

_**Senator O'Brien Arrested, Multiple Criminal Indictments Pending**_

_Senator James O'Brien (NY) was arrested at his campaign offices Monday morning after and extensive  
>six month joint investigation by the FBI and the Justice Department. The Senator is being held without<br>bail until formal charges are presented at his arraignment on Friday. The FBI did confirm that his arrest  
>was as a result of the ongoing investigation into the shooting deaths of Captain Roy Montgomery and<br>Detective Katherine Beckett, of the 12th precinct. The investigation into their deaths was taken over  
>by the FBI after evidence surfaced linking the Senator to past and possibly ongoing criminal activities.<em>

I didn't need to read anymore. I had what I needed. He had been exposed and now I could give  
>up the fear that her final words had caused me. I popped the cork, and Gloria and I drank our<br>champagne out of a pair of mismatched coffee mugs scrounged from the lunch room. We drank  
>and reminisced. Thirty minutes later, we weren't even halfway through the bottle when Gloria<br>said she had to leave. I found out she'd come by on her lunch break and had to get back to work.  
>I'd forgotten she had a new life, filled with new people. This was probably the last time we would<br>see each other so I hugged her and wished her the best. Gloria didn't say goodbye, it wasn't her  
>style. She had to smack me upside the head with her parting words instead.<p>

"She was a brave woman, how brave are you going to be?

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what both Gloria and Detective Beckett wanted from me.

…

As much as I tried to put this all behind me, I still couldn't let it go. I watched the media circus as events  
>unfolded. The foremost charge against the Senator was First Degree Murder for the solicitation deaths<br>of Johanna Beckett and her colleagues. The damning proof against the Senator was in the files that the  
>FBI received posthumously from Captain Montgomery. Soon added to the murder charges were numerous<br>charges of Racketeering, from bribery and money laundering, to obstruction of justice and embezzlement.  
>There were even whispers he had ties to organized crime. New arrests and repercussions from the<br>Senators downfall were a daily occurrence, but I never heard another word about her.

The fallout from Senator O'Brien's arrest overshadowed the investigation into Detective Beckett's death.  
>She had received justice for her mothers murder, but where was hers? She had sacrificed everything for<br>the truth and yet the only eulogy she ever received from the press was the two damning words in that  
>initial article, "apparent suicide". She deserved better. Day after day I checked the papers, TV and internet<br>for any more information about her death, and every day I came up empty. I finally resorted to a more  
>hands on approach. I called the NYPD's media liaison and pretended I was with the press. I asked about<br>the outcome of the investigation into their deaths and was told that since the FBI had taken over the case  
>the NYPD had no official comment. Next, I contacted her partner Detective Esposito, but as soon as I told<br>him who I was he told me to "take a hike" before he hung up on me. I tried to find Captain Montgomery's  
>wife but discovered she had moved away shortly after her husband's death. I was frustrated at constantly<br>coming up empty. It was the only reason I made my next call. I called the FBI. That was a mistake.

The following weekend agents appeared on my doorstep. I could see the worry on Kiera's face when they  
>introduced themselves and asked to speak to me. She wanted to know what was going on, but I asked<br>her to please take the girls upstairs and to wait with them. I promised her we would talk later. She wasn't  
>happy but she complied. I was never worried about the Feds, my real worry was Kiera. How was I supposed<br>to explain this…this…whatever this was that I had been obsessing over. I didn't understand it myself.

As soon as they were out the door she was on me, scared, worried and demanding. I knew I had to tell  
>her, but why did I feel so guilty. I hadn't done anything. The truth of those four words shocked me. I hadn't<br>done anything. I hadn't done anything to stop her from walking away, and afterwards I hadn't mentioned  
>to the police about her connection to Senator O'Brien. I hadn't even told Kiera what happened at work. I<br>had been scared, and now I felt like a coward. I was tired of being scared, and suddenly I realized, that's  
>what bravery was all about, it wasn't about being fearless; it was more about just being tired of being scared.<br>Gloria knew. It just took me a lot longer to figure it out. I sat down next to Kiera at the kitchen table and she  
>watched as I pulled the cover off my cell phone. I handed her the blue and white card and tried my best to explain.<p>

She cried. I hadn't expected her to cry. I expected anger, maybe even a little jealousy, but not tears. I didn't  
>know how to react to tears.<p>

"You're not mad?"

She wiped her eyes. "Why would I be mad?"

"I've been carrying around the card of a dead woman and the Feds were just at our house, so yeah I thought you'd be mad."

"You were just trying to protect your family; I'd have done the same."

"But I can't seem to let it go, I feel she deserves some sort of justice of her own."

"It just means that you care, that you still have a heart. I've always been afraid your job would take that from you."

I hated to admit it, but I'd begun to worry about that myself. Dealing with Jimmy and others like him had begun  
>to take its toll on me and I'd begun to realize since Detective Beckett's death that what I did was less about<br>perception and more about lying. It was lies had pulled the trigger on her and her mother, and it was these  
>same lies that had kept Jimmy out of jail and put two men dead on the street. Only this time, the lies were mine.<p>

It was Kiera who suggested that I take my weeks of accrued vacation time and use it to try and find out what  
>had happened to her. I jumped at the idea. It took a few weeks for me to close all the cases I'd been working<br>on and I couldn't believe the sense of elation I felt when I finally locked my office door. What I discovered about  
>her life had me taking for an extended leave of absence for another month. The month after that…I quit. I was<br>about to find out just how brave I could be.

…

Someone was pulling on my hand.

"Babe, we're here…babe?"

The limo had arrived at its destination. Shit, I was nervous. I'd never done this before. Paula had said not to  
>worry, the hard part was hers and all I had to do was "schmooze". It was easy for her to say, she'd been to<br>hundreds of these. This was my first. Thank God Kiera was with me. I felt sorry for her as she pulled me by my  
>hand from the back seat; I'd probably wind up cutting off the circulation to her hand before the evening was<br>through.

Everything felt surreal as I walked into the foyer of the hotel. There in front of the doors to the reception room  
>stood a giant placard bearing my name.<p>

**BlackPawn Proudly Presents New York Times Bestselling Author Richard Castle**

Bestselling author, it was still hard to get my head around that. How could I be a bestselling author before the  
>book launch? Isn't that what this party was all about, to premier my book to the public? It seemed a little 'cart<br>before the horse to me', but this was a different world from what I was used to. Looking at the placard, I still  
>didn't care for the cover art they'd chosen for the book, a lone woman holding a gun in silhouette against the<br>New York City skyline, it didn't do anything for me but supposedly they had 'people' who researched that kind  
>of stuff. I did manage to keep control of the books title, it was one of the few things I insisted on before I signed<br>their contract.

"**Final Justice"**

For me, it stood for the justice that Kate had achieved for her mother and the final justice that I was able to  
>achieve for her by telling her story. I had a lot of help along the way. I learned about the dark days after her<br>mother's death from her friend Madison, and her ex training officer Mike Royce was more than eager to open  
>up to me about her time as a rookie officer. I think he loved being able to mold her, to try to make her into his<br>ideal woman more than he actually loved her. The same went for all the men in her life. They loved the woman  
>she presented to the world but none of them ever truly loved her. Once they caught a glimpse of her frailty and<br>emotional baggage she carried they quietly slipped away. There had been one man who could have saved her,  
>he hadn't been on the list I had. He was a surgeon who had wanted to love her, baggage and all, but in the end<br>he loved his work more and he quietly slipped away to save people in Africa. The man was a fool. He couldn't even  
>save the one person who needed him the most.<p>

All the men in her life had failed her, including her father. He never recovered from his wife's death and drank  
>himself into an early grave. She had lost her mother in one swift act of violence and her father to the slow<br>decrepitude of alcoholism. I wondered which death hurt her more.

A lot of the people I'd met from her life would be in that room tonight. I'd become friends with most of them,  
>especially the ones closest to her. None were closer than her partner, Javier Esposito, and her best friend<br>and medical examiner Lanie Parish. I can honestly say, without them this book would never have come to  
>fruition. Javier carried her heart and Lanie carried her soul, and it was their intimate knowledge of her that<br>brought her to life for me, and for my readers. The depth of her strength and her heart amazed me. Justice  
>for the victims is what drove her life and made her a damn good Detective.<p>

I wish I could say that I was the one who had found justice for Kate, but fate stepped in to claim that honor.  
>It was a misfiled slip of paper that Lanie found in a toxicology report that reopened the investigation into her<br>death. The paper was a report on the finding of blood samples collected from the hangar where their bodies  
>were discovered. It detailed five distinct donors. Five! There had been others in the hanger that night. This<br>evidence contradicted the Police Commissioners official report of the crime scene. Lanie hid the original and  
>sent multiple copies to the FBI and the Justice Department. Within days the Commissioner was arrested for<br>obstruction of justice. He was the last man standing after O'Brien's arrest and there was no one left to save  
>him. He quickly confessed to working for the Senator and to covering up what happened in the hangar. He<br>told investigators that O'Brien had ordered her death and that Kate had been shot and killed in an ambush.  
>He also said that Captain Montgomery had tried to save her but was killed in the ensuing gun battle. It was<br>little comfort now, but at least there had been someone in her life willing to stand with her.

"Rick! There you are. How long have you been standing out here?"

Paula's head was sticking out from between the doors and her body soon followed. She grabbed my free hand  
>and pulled me towards the doors. "You can't keep your public waiting."<p>

Oh crap, I still wasn't ready for this. Kiera was pulled inside with me by the death grip I had on her hand

…..

Once I got through the photo Op's and the 'meet and greets' with a pretentious literary critic from the New York  
>Times, the uptight editors of the New Yorker, they were going to publish excerpts from my book in their magazine,<br>and the diminutive rep from The Letterman Show that reminded me of a Chihuahua on meth, Paula said it was  
>time for a break and that I could mingle for a while. Thank God!<p>

I was surprised at the number of Kate's friend's, co-workers and ex-boyfriends that had come to the book launch.  
>Half the 12th precinct seemed to be in attendance and they couldn't praise me enough for honoring one of their<br>own. I ran into Mike Royce and listened as he praised himself more than Kate. I just shook his hand politely,  
>thanked him for coming and then excused myself. I finally tracked down Kiera and saw that she was talking to Lanie<br>and Esposito. And standing with them was the last person I expected to see here. Dr. Davidson was with them.  
>I thought he was in Africa. That's where he was when I conducted a phone interview with him. I had never met him<br>in person, I'd only seen him in some of Kate's photo's that Lanie had kept. He was a lot bigger than I could tell from  
>the photographs and I felt a little intimidated by him, especially after the less than flattering picture I painted of him<br>in my book. It was too late to try and hide, Esposito had seen me.

"Yo, Castle! Where have you been? We've been here for like an hour and we haven't even gotten to see the guest of honor yet."

"Kiera probably told you I was hiding, didn't she?"

Everyone but Kiera laughed. She just playfully swatted my arm. "No I didn't, I told them you were working."

I felt it I'd best break the ice with the doctor before the conversation paused and we both just stood and stared at one another.

I held out my hand. "You must be Dr. Davidson, nice to finally meet you."

He shook my hand and I could gauge by his grip that he wasn't angry with me. "Nice to meet you too. Congratulations  
>on the success of your book."<p>

"I just told her story, Kate's the one who deserves all the credit; it was her life and her sacrifice after all."

"Yeah, but I believe if her story had been told by anyone else but you it wouldn't have been the same."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're in love with her."

"What?" My face began to burn. What did he just say? That was impossible! How could I be in love with her and how  
>could he dare say something like that in front of my wife. I thought about giving an indignant reply to his remark but<br>I was too shocked by what Esposito said next.

"Seriously bro, the man's right. You are so in love with her."

I could see Lanie's eyebrows arch as she nodded her head in agreement.

"Wha…I…how could you possibly think…"

Kiera's laugh cut short my feeble attempt at denial. "Oh honey…don't be embarrassed, I've known for years."

How was it that I was the only one here who didn't know and why did it take me until now to realize that what I'd  
>written wasn't a true crime novel, but rather a 579 page love letter to a woman who needed to be loved.<p>

_I was in love with another woman. I don't know when it happened…_

* * *

><p><strong><em>NEXT: "The Grifter"<em>**


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